


Debugging

by AssortedGeekery



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Alien Biology, Gen, Ratchet is a BAMF, SO MUCH Vomit, Vomiting, bringing this back from my old ffnet days, stomach flu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-24
Updated: 2018-06-24
Packaged: 2019-05-27 15:30:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15027638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AssortedGeekery/pseuds/AssortedGeekery
Summary: Viruses being the tenacious little beasties that they are, it's only a matter of time before something evolves or adapts enough to thrive in a Transformer's systems. Ratchet is going to have his work cut out for him.





	Debugging

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written and posted by me on ff.net in August of 2009 under the same title. Pulled it out, cleaned it up, added a little here and a little there...and here we go. My one and only attempt at explaining robotic biological processes.
> 
> Also, I love Ratchet. Can you tell?

Thursday

 

"Doc?"

Ratchet sighed and looked to the door. He had yet to get the human portion of NEST to quit calling him that, and he had a feeling Major Lennox was the reason the name had been attached to him in the first place; it felt like the sort of human thing he’d do, affectionately attaching extra names to people.

"Yes, Major?"

"Could you have a look at Ironhide?"

"May I ask why?” Rachet asked, already wondering what cultural roadblock he was going to have to clear up this time. 

"Well, he just spewed god knows what all over the main hangar floor and now he's curled up against one of the walls. I'm no good at reading you guys, but if that was one of my guys, I’d be taking him to a hospital right now.”

Ratchet startled at this and got to his feet.

"Show me."

Lennox obediently moved back out the door, taking a quick sidestep onto the top of Ratchet's left foot as it swung past him. Prior experience had taught him and quite a few others that this was the only way to keep up with an Autobot in a hurry if you didn’t have some form of transportation- even the serious runners on his team couldn’t keep pace with a stride like that for long.

 

 

Sure enough, Ironhide was a big heap of black and dark gray in the corner of the hangar, huddled in on himself and taking up as little space as was possible without taking on his alt form. Ratchet ignored him for the time being and went over to examine the puddle on the hangar floor, thick and gleaming under the lights.

"Energon," he said quietly, crouching to get a better look. "And oil. How many _times_ do I have to tell him that we don't _need_ oil?"

"Is that what caused this?" Lennox asked.

"I doubt it, or it would have happened sooner." He scanned the puddle, then straightened and went to Ironhide's side. He scanned again, then made a small, amused noise, patting the closest part of his friend in something like reassurance.

"I fail to find anything amusing in this," Ironhide growled from his position on the floor.

"It's only funny to a medic, 'hide. How do you feel?"

"Like my tanks are being crushed. You already know something I don't, so quit the 'good doctor' act and just tell me what it is."

Ratchet shrugged. "It was only a matter of time before the viruses on this planet adapted to our systems. You are simply the first successful infection."

Lennox choked on a startled laugh. "You mean he has _stomach flu_?"

“Some form of gastroenteritis, yes."

The news prompted a groan from Ironhide, still maintaining the more or less face-down position on the floor. "Slag it," he growled. "Why _me_?"

"Bad luck," Ratchet said simply, deciding not to point out that Ironhide’s association with a great many soldiers as well as Lennox’s own child made him more likely to come into contact with such biological contaminants. "Go lie down, and don't bother with your alt mode; I don't want to _know_ how much of a mess you'll make if you try to purge your tanks without the appropriate orifice. Try and get some Energon down in a little while."

Ironhide made an uncomfortable noise and rolled onto his hands and knees. After a moment of scratchy whirring noises, he jerked forward and heaved. More of the Energon and oil mixture splattered on the floor. Lennox hopped out of the way. Ratchet just sighed and waited until he had finished, then pulled him gently to his feet. He could feel a gentle heat coming off the weapons expert, and grimaced.

"You're overheating," he announced, sliding his arm across Ironhide's shoulder to help him stay upright as the larger mech swayed.

"Just help me get to my bunk."

 

Friday

"I'm going to magnetize him to that bunk if he keeps this up," Ratchet groused, storming around his medbay like a large yellow rain cloud. "It  _never_  changes. I tell him what will help him  _not_  heave the contents of his tanks all over creation, and what does he do? The  _exact_  opposite. And  _then_  he comes in and whines because he feels like slag."

Optimus chuckled. The spectacle of Ironhide _whining_ like a sparkling defined a rust stick was a rare and amusing treat. "You can't change what he is, Ratchet.”

"He's a massive pain in the aft, that's what he is. I can't do my job if he doesn't _let_ me!"

" _Is_ there anything you can _actually_ do?"

" _No_ , but that isn't the  _point_."

"And the point is…"

"That I can't function as a medic if my patient keeps ignoring my instructions!"

" _Can_ you magnetize him?"

"Yes. It isn't a question of ability, it's just a matter of me getting in there and doing it. And, of course, the ethical-“ Ratchet stopped as Optimus raised a hand. 

"If you think he needs it, I trust your judgment."

Ratchet looked at Optimus, found no joking smile, and made a pleased rumbling noise.

"I'll give him until tonight. If he keeps acting up, then I'm sticking him to that damn bunk and he isn't going _anywhere_ until I say so."

"That's the spirit.”

 

Late that night, half the hangar was woken by Ironhide's deafening protests to his treatment. The brave few who went to see what the problem was found Ironhide twisting into odd positions in an attempt to unstick his feet from the end of his bunk. His progress was somewhat impeded by the way his hands and other body parts had a tendency to stick to the bare parts of the metal bunk whenever he let them get too close. The condition of his tanks didn't help matters, ending with him half sitting up, hugging his chassis and making distressed whirring noises as his tanks fought to purge themselves again.

Ratchet stood over him, looking smug.

"Let this be a lesson.”

"A lesson in  _what_?"

"A lesson in listening to the medic treating you."

Ironhide gave him the best scowl he could manage in such a state. Not that his scowling _ever_ had an effect on Ratchet, the mech had been sparked jaded and had just gotten worse from there. 

“You aren’t making this any easer for yourself. Stay. Recharge. Get some fluids in you. Stop _struggling_. I’ll be back in the morning.”

 

Saturday

Bumblebee peered around the edge of the medbay door. Ratchet looked up at him, noted that there didn't seem to be any visible problem, and returned to fiddling with the delicate little toy one of the soldiers had given him. The thing was a variant on the Rubix Cube, composed of twelve sides, and Ratchet was making a game of solving the puzzle without allowing himself the use of algorithms, Internet searches or anything that might have constituted cheating. Given the size of the thing, he also had to handle it with small tools, and the combined challenge was proving delightful. 

“What is it, Bumblebee?”

" _Houston, we have a problem."_

"Your vocal processor acting up again? Or something else?"

" _Dad, I'm sick, I don't feel good. Pull over, man."_

Ratched paused in his puzzling to run the quote through a quick search. Independence Day. 1996, a science fiction film then classed as a fantasy thriller. The line had been an almost immediate precursor to the speaker vomiting by the side of the road.

"Waste bin," he said quickly, setting the toy aside. " _Now_."

Bumblebee needed no further prompting. He crossed the medbay in a few hurried strides and huddled over the dumpster Ratchet used for a trash can, trembling. Ratchet joined him, sliding one hand between him and the dumpster to press against his chassis plating and the tanks beneath it. He could feel the shift and grind of parts doing the exact opposite of what they normally did, clenching and squeezing to force a purge against Bumblebee’s attempts at resistance.

"Just relax," he said gently. "Let it happen."

It took a few more minutes before Bumblebee finally relaxed enough to purge his tanks, the edge of the dumpster warping and twisting under the grip he had on it. Ratchet silently held him through it, then pulled him away from the dumpster when he stopped heaving and backed him onto one of the massive tables in the middle of the room. He went easily, turning onto his side with a heavy sigh. Ratchet scanned him, just to make sure, and nodded.

"The same virus Ironhide has."

Bumblebee groaned.

"When you feel up to it, you will go to your bunk and stay there. With you and Ironhide both sick, I can assign several of the soldiers to see to your needs. Understood?"

" _I'm alright, it's just a scratch."_

"Don't you start. If I have to make magnetizing all of you to your bunks a standard treatment of this virus, then I will. So you will return to your bunk. No detours, no dawdling, and no excuses.”

“ _Yes, Mother.”_

 

Sunday

Sam walked in the big door into the main hangar expecting to see his friends out and about, busy doing their part in keeping NEST running smoothly. Instead, he found Optimus on a video call and no other Autobots in sight.

"Doc's in the medbay," a passing soldier advised. “But be careful, he's crabby."

As far as Sam knew, Ratchet didn't _do_ crabby. He did do cantankerous, murderous, sarcastic, caustic and deadpan, but not crabby. Curious, he headed straight for Ratchet's domain.

The medic was toying with what looked like a sample case when Sam arrived, turning it over and over in his hands and looking off into space, optics taking on the unfocused look of a ‘bot lost in thought. It took him a moment or two to realize that he had company.

"Ah, Samuel. Good to see you. How is your education progressing?"

"Fine, I guess…where _is_ everyone?"

"Ironhide and Bumblebee are in their bunks. Everyone _else_ is trying to avoid them."

Sam frowned. " _Avoid_  them?” Ironhide he could understand, with the moods the mech was prone to being in, but avoiding B _umblebee_?

"They have both contracted a tank virus. I can't say if it's particularly contagious or not, but it has put them both on the off-duty list. Ironhide is on his fourth day already."

"Tank virus?"

"Yes. Mass amounts of the virus in question proliferate in the processing systems, overloading the immune system and generally making a mess of the place. It causes overheating in the main systems and periodical purging of the tanks, what you would call…puking your guts up, I believe. There are other symptoms, but those are causing the most distress.”

"They have  _stomach flu_?"

"Of a kind, yes."

Sam goggled at Ratchet, then snorted.

"Ironhide made a big fuss, didn't he?"

"What makes you say that?” Ratched asked innocently. 

"No way ' _bee_ managed to get you this irritated."

Ratchet smiled faintly and gave Sam a helpless shrug. "It's his nature."

"You got that right. Can I see 'bee?"

"Of course. Just don't get him too excited about anything, or you'll be cleaning up the results."

Sam winced and headed out the door.

Bumblebee had at least heeded Ratchet's instructions to stay down, rather than fight it like Ironhide had been. When Sam came in, he was lying still and quiet on his bunk, arms crossed over his chassis.

"Hey, 'bee," Sam said quietly.

Bumblebee turned to look at him. His optics brightened and he made a pleased trilling noise. Sam grinned.

"Ratchet said it was alright if I kept you company for a bit. How are you feeling?"

_I've had worse. Can't actually remember any of 'em right now, though._

"That bad, huh?"

He nodded. Sam smiled and sat down on the edge of the bunk. Bumblebee heaved a tired sigh and shifted enough to give him room, then relaxed again, optics half closing as Sam stroked around his jaw.

Several minutes later, Wheelie zoomed in without bothering to announce himself, coming to a sudden halt near the edge of the bunk and transforming into his more functional mode so he could clamber up onto the bunk.

"Heeeeeyyyy, Witwicky!"

"Hey, Wheelie. What's up?"

"The soldiers want you in the hangar. Jolt's being a handful and they think you can talk 'im down. You know, like you do.”

"Being a handful?” Sam asked, shifting towards the edge of the bunk. 

"Being a stubborn aft, but you didn't hear that from me. C'mon, I don’t wanna miss the fun."

Sam slid off the bunk and followed Wheelie out, waving goodbye to Bumblebee as he went. 

 

To say that Jolt was being a handful was something of an understatement. When Sam reentered the hangar, he found Jolt facing off with at least half a squad of soldiers that were grouped in front of the hangar door, which was partially open. There were three of them on him, one hanging onto either leg and one up on his shoulders, apparently trying to reason with him. Jolt was gently but determinedly trying to remove them, shaking his feet and plucking at the one on his shoulders. 

"Are they trying to keep him from leaving the hangar?" Sam asked, heading for the door.

"Yep."

"Why?"

"'cuz he's hot when they touch ‘im, even though he ain’t been out in the sun today, that's why. They figger he's got the slaggin' bug too, and no one wants him getting' out an’ spreadin’ it around.”

Sam shook his head. He knew Jolt was a snobbish troublemaker at times, but he was usually reasonable, even if you had to take a specific angle on the reasoning. He took off across the hangar at a trot, Wheelie speeding along at his side.

"Whatsamatter, Jolt?" he asked when he reached the bot's side. "You on house arrest?"

"So it would seem," Jolt growled. "Call the soldiers off."

"You know I don't have the authority to do that." Acting friendly, Sam put a hand on Jolt's leg, then yanked it back. "You're awfully hot. Are you feeling alright?"

"Sour tank," Jolt said dismissively. "I want to go for a drive to settle it, but they won't let me."

"You might have that virus Bumblebee and Ironhide have," Sam pointed out. "It's pretty bad, from what I hear; Bumblebee looked miserable when I went to visit. Probably not a good idea for you to go out."

"I'd know if it was that bad. I just need some air and a good drive, and I'll be fine!"

Sam looked over at Sergeant Mason, one of the few gathered soldiers he actually knew, and winked. Then he turned back to Jolt.

"Only if I can come with you. Deal?"

Jolt considered this, then pulled the soldier from his shoulder and set him on the ground. "Deal. Get off of me, humans, or you'll be flattened."

The gathered men scattered, watching quietly as Jolt shifted into alt mode and Sam climbed inside. With a little more rev than was necessary and the scream of tires on smooth cement, Jolt tore out of the hangar.

Once they were off the base and on one of the nearly deserted old highways surrounding the area, Sam let go of the wheel and relaxed back in his seat, letting Jolt do the driving. After a minute or two, he rolled his window down; the Chevy Volt's interior was sweltering, even though it was fairly cool outside, further evidence that all was not well in Jolt's systems. But he didn’t comment on it. He knew all too well that sometimes just getting out of the house could help with feeling crummy.

The location of the NEST base had been chosen for more than one reason. Aside from the fact that it was fairly remote but still accessible, the miles of two-lane highway and dirt roads twisting over and around the surrounding hills were a paradise for the Autobots. It was more than safe enough for them to go for a drive without bothering with a holographic driver, or to find a grassy hollow, transform, and catch an hour of recharge in the sun. This also meant it was _not_ the best place to break down- a retireeval team could spend an hour trying to find the unlucky idiot to blow a tire or overheat an old engine when running the handful of backup vehicles they kept on hand for the ‘bots to scan and transform into at need.

Sam had been expecting Jolt to give in much sooner than he had. He really should have known better, what with Jolt's reputation for being almost as unwilling to admit injury as Ironhide, but he had been sure the robotic equivalent of a bad stomach flu would have been hard to ignore. Not so. They were a good half-hour out when something under Jolt's hood made an unnatural juddering sound.

"You okay, Jolt?"

The entire vehicle shuddered violently, then pulled into a tight turn that took them off the side of the road. They bounced off the shoulder and came to a jerking halt in the grass. As soon as they were stationary, the driver's side door flew open and Sam found himself tossed out; he landed in the grass with a thump and a squawk of protest. Behind him, Jolt transformed at impressive speed, coming up on his knees, and violently purged his tanks. Sam got up and sidled closer, cautiously laying a hand on the hot metal of the ‘bot’s flank. It was all he could do, really; between his relative size and lack of knowledge of how to care for a sick Transformer, reassurance was his only option. 

When Jolt was lying on his side in the grass, intakes practically buzzing with the force they were pulling air in with and fans whirring frantically, Sam moved up near his head. 

"Jolt?"

"I think I need to go back to base," the mech said quietly.

"Yeah, no kidding. Can you get back into alt mode, so we can get back?"

Jolt shook his head."I don't think so. Not enough room in alt mode for my tanks." He groaned and clutched at his chassis, swearing under his breath. Sam added robotic stomach cramps to the list of symptoms his friends were suffering through and sighed, then dug his phone out of his pocket. He had the base on speed dial.

" _NEST base, this is Lieutenant Ellis."_

"Yeah, hi, this is Sam Witwicky? I'm out on the highway with Jolt, and he doesn't think he can get into alt mode to get us back to base. We're about thirty, maybe forty miles out, in…uh…Sector…..Jolt? What area are we in?”

“Five,” Jolt mumbled, rolling onto his side. “N-near the b-beach. _Oh_ , Primu-“ He heaved again, making Sam cringe. He heard the lieutenant whisper a curse. 

“Sector Five near the beach. Can we get a pickup as fast as someone can get out here? He…really needs Ratchet.”

 

Monday

Ironhide strode in bright and early with Skids and Mudflap tucked under his arms. Neither one of them was protesting the undignified treatment, a sure sign that they were the latest casualties.

"Here," Ironhide grunted, dumping the pair in a tangle of limbs on one of Ratchet's examining tables. He hopped up to sit on the other one, head cradled in his hands. "I caught them before they could get too far."

Ratchet gave the groaning heap of bodies a cursory scan, and sighed. Two more cases of the virus.

"They were trying to escape?"

"Trying to hide, actually. In storage."

Ratchet snorted and patted the nearest shoulder, then moved around the table to Ironhide. The twins could wait. Getting a proper look at the first mech to contract and recover from the virus was more important. The fact that he _liked_ Ironhide was just a bonus. "How are you feeling?"

"Weak," Ironhide muttered grudgingly. "Aching and weak."

"But better, I take it?"

"Yeah."

"Keeping your Energon down?"

"Would you have let me up if I wasn't?"

"No, but if I don’t ask Primus alone knows what you’ll allow to continue until you can’t function.”

"I'm  _fine_. You just deal with Thing One and Thing Two here, and I'll do what I do best."

"Scaring the Spark out of the new arrivals?"

"Precisely."

Ratchet nodded, fighting a smile of amusement. ”Mmm…take it easy, though. And if you want to keep up in the scaring business, using references from children's books is not the best way to do it. I'm sure the Major's daughter appreciates your remembering parts of her favorite Dr. Seuss book, though."

Ironhide made a few irate noises and took a swipe at Ratchet's hip as he headed back towards the twins. Ratchet stepped out of the way without bothering to look at him; on a good day, they were almost evenly matched in close combat. Today, with Ironhide still undercharged and hurting? No contest.

"Clearly, you've recovered enough to get out of my way. Here- take this to Jolt and tell him he'll take it willingly or I'll give it to him through a direct line." He waved a canister at Ironhide. "And keep to one side of him. I can't guarantee it will stay down."

"Get someone else to do it,” Ironhide grunted.

"Someone else will still be risking infection. You can't be infected a second time without significant changes in the characteristics of the virus. Do it."

Grumbling, Ironhide snatched the canister from Ratchet's hand and stomped out. Behind him, Ratchet chuckled and began scanning Skids and Mudflap to determine whether or not they would require experimental treatment like Jolt.

 

Tuesday

"Ratchet!"

Epps came sprinting into the medbay. His shirt was hanging, dark and wet, from his belt and there were several small splatter-shaped blisters on his bare skin. The smell of discharged Energon hung around him like a cloud.

“Who is it now?” Ratchet demanded. 

“Sideswipe. He puked and collapsed out of nowhere. Now he’s just…lying there, twitching a bit."

"Where?"

"Rec room."

Ratchet bent to grab Epps- who yelped and grabbed at one massive finger to keep from falling- and rushed out the door.

 

Wednesday

There was enough clear space in front of the hangar doors for Bumblebee to execute several fast, tight doughnuts and a little hop before coming to a halt and letting Sam and Mikela stagger out. He transformed at once, scooping his friends up and heading into the hangar even as his friends collapsed in his hands, laughing and too dizzy to stand.

"Okay, 'bee, new rule. No making us too dizzy to walk without a warning," Mikela giggled, clinging to Sam until the hangar stopped spinning.

"I second that," Sam agreed. He had a fairly solid hold on Bumblebee's thumb, one he intended to maintain until he could see straight.

" _C'mon, where's your sense of adventure?"_

"Back on the highway where you hit that dip at…what was it, seventy? Eighty?"

" _You guys're- aww, man."_

Naturally, both Sam and Mikela looked to see what the problem was.

" _Optimus_?" Mikela breathed.

Across the hangar, Optimus Prime was sitting with his back against the wall, head fallen back, looking as much like death warmed over as twenty-eight feet of alien robot commander could. All personnel nearby were giving him a very wide berth, most likely for the same reason that there was a dumpster sitting next to his left hand, the edge of it crushed to fit his fingers in a way that didn’t look deliberate. It looked more like the product of a frantic grab.

Bumblebee approached cautiously, holding Sam and Mikela out of the way. Optimus lifted his head to look at them, then let it fall back against the wall with a ringing  _clank_. "I see you're up and running again, Bumblebee.” 

" _Ow! I feel good!"_

"Remind me to find something suitably repetitive for Ironhide to do when I think I can move more than my head without purging my tanks, would you?"

"Why Ironhide?" Sam asked, standing in Bumblebee’s palm for a better angle. 

"I don't know who brought the organic virus here. I _do_ know that Ironhide showed symptoms first, and purged his tanks in the main hangar, where the virus had more than enough opportunities to spread. Therefore, I blame him."

"Anything we can do?" Mikela ventured, joining Sam against ‘bee’s fingers.

Optimus was quiet for a minute, considering this, then nodded faintly.

"Find out if the offer of a hose down is still good. If it is, request cold water, please."

"Sure thing. Put me down, 'bee, I'll go find someone."

Bumblebee swung Mikela down to the floor and let her jog off in search of a soldier who wasn't obviously busy.

"So…uh, aside from the obvious…how are you feeling?” Sam asked, wincing when Optimus’ tanks made a horrific grinding noise. 

Optimus made a small, pained sound and pressed one hand to his belly plating as if to quell the noise. ”I’ve been better, Sam. I've been  _much_  better."

"Have you seen Ratchet yet?"

Optimus shook his head. He brought one hand up to scrub tiredly at his optics. "He's busy with Sideswipe. I can wait."

"What's up with 'swipe?"

"His internal temperature is reaching dangerous levels. Ratchet is attempting to lower it before something gets melted."

Sam flinched. He'd seen the bots in flames and not too bothered by it. The idea of having a fever hot enough to melt part of one of those nearly invulnerable bodies was not a pleasant one.

"Geez…that really sucks. For both of you."

"Mmmhm."

"How's the rest of the crew doing? Is talking okay or am I making it harder for you?”

"Ironhide has recovered. Sideswipe is with Ratchet. The twins have been magnetized to their bunks. Jolt has locked himself in his quarters and refuses to speak to anyone, due to his inability to get his faceplate up fast enough while crossing the hangar and the resulting…mess.” Optimus made a sound a little like a queasy burp and covered his mouth with one hand, curling slightly in on himself for a moment.

Sam and Bumblebee both flinched away, only relaxing a little when he let his hand fall.

“Talking is….fine. The distraction is welcome. And Ratchet is ready to offline the next bot who complains to him, or so I hear."

"That bad?"

"That bad."

"Guess I'll steer clear of the med-bay, then. Do you know if- never mind, here comes your shower. Feel better, okay?"

"Thank you.”

They were halfway across the hangar when they heard the tell-tale crash of an Autobot hand coming down hard on a dumpster, followed by the all-too familiar sound of tanks being purged. More cringing ensued; Bumblebee snatched up Mikala on her way back and all three made themselves scarce.

 

Sunday

Wheelie just happened to be rolling into the medbay when Ratchet staggered away from his desk and headed for the dumpsters in back. He scooted around a table to get a better look, scanning the medic with his infra-red vision. Red hot. Clearly, someone had been more concerned with everyone else than he had been with himself.

Ratchet leaned over the closest dumpster for a moment, intakes nearly silenced, then heaved a heavy sigh and returned to the desk, rubbing at his belly plating.

"Got the bug yerself, huh?” Wheelie asked, delighted with Ratched actually twitched in surprise. Catching him unawares was a rare treat, and unable to pursue even more so.

"If you aren't in immediate need of medical attention, Wheelie, leave my medbay before I give you a _reason_ to be here."

Wheelie ignored the threat, knowing Ratchet was in no position to do anything drastic. "So…are ya forcin’ your Energon back down, or are yer tanks jus' empty already?"

Ratchet made a low, unpleasant sound, cabling around his throat shifting. ”I’m fine, Wheelie. Don't let the door hit you on the way out."

"You're runnin' as hot as Skids was when you sent him to his bunk. Shouldn't you be back in _your_ bunk?"

"How did-  _infra-red_. You little….just get out now and you can keep all your parts where they are."

"Hey, hey, I'm just showin' a little concern for my fellow mech. Wouldn't want ya to…I dunno, purge on the Major or something, right?"

Ratchet made a distressed noise and got to his feet again. Wheelie moved back behind the nearest table in case Ratchet was going to make good on his threats. His worry was for no reason- Ratchet took two steps towards him, then abruptly reversed course and sprinted for the dumpster with one hand clamped over his mouth. Wheelie got out while the getting was good. 

 

A short while later, though, Wheelie zoomed back in with most of the functioning bots on the base in tow. They located Ratchet on the table in the back, lying fairly still except for the sound of his fans working overtime and the faint, unmistakable grind of irritated tanks.

"I'm going to turn you into a  _femme_ , you little glitch," he growled when Wheelie came into view. "An  _ugly_  femme."

"He's just doing what I asked him to," Ironhide chuckled, scooping Wheelie up and handing him off to someone who would keep him from getting caught by Ratchet or stepped on in the rare change Ratchet attempted an escape. "Checking up on you so we would know when you finally broke down. Had t’ happen.”

"I'm  _fine_ ," Ratchet muttered. "Just undercharged, from dealing with all of you."

" _Sure_. Tell that to the tanks I can hear grindin’ from here. C'mon, your bunk is calling you."

"I'm more than capable of taking care of myself, thank you. Kindly remove yourselves from my-  _hey_!"

Ignoring Ratchet's protests, Ironhide picked the boxy medic up in a bridal carry and headed for the door, ignoring the poorly aimed kicks and awkwardly angled smacking at his shoulders. There was no real fight in it anyhow, and it made for a show as they crossed the hangar.

 

Several months later

"You look like shit," Epps commented, dropping into a seat across from Lennox in the corner of tables and seating the human contingent used as an unofficial mess area. 

"I feel like it," Will agreed, sniffling. He had his head in his hands and a cup of cooling coffee in front of him, and he generally looked like he ought to be home in bed.

"I'll cover for you if you wanna catch a nap in the rec room."

"I have a conference call with Secretary Keller in- _whoa_ , hey, put me _down_!"

Ratchet lifted Will to eye level and gave him a quick scan. Then, with a noisy huff, he marched out of the hangar, across the grounds, and out to the guard shack at the gates with Will dangling from his hand like an errant kitten. He lowered him gently onto the grass on the far side of the fence and faced him, hands on hips, scowling.

"Stay off base until you've recovered, Major, I will  _not_  have a repeat of the tank virus."

"But I have a-"

"I will explain your absence."

"You can't just-"

"I can and I will."

"I'm the commanding officer on this base!"

"For a military I am not a part of.”

Will sputtered indignantly, eventually falling into a fit of coughing. Ratchet waited until he had finished before saying anything else.

"I will bring your vehicle out for you. Please remain on that side of the fence."

"Ratchet, aren't you taking this-"

"My job is to do everything I can to ensure the health of the Autobots on Earth. That extends to removing potential threats that they are unable to properly combat. You are one such threat. As such, I am allowed to do whatever I deem necessary to keep you off this base until I think you are ready to return."

" _Doc_ ," Will began. Ratchet shook his head.

“The Geneva conventions forbid the use of biological weapons. As far as I am concnerned, that its what you are until you have recovered.”

Will made more indignant noises of protest. “I have a job to do!”

"Recharge and fluids will do wonders for you. Stay put while I get your vehicle. If I see you climbing the fence or trying to enter through the gate, I will personally escort you home and deliver care instructions to your mate.” Ratchet’s smile was pure, unduelterated evil. “I’m sure she will appreciate that.”

Will sighed and sat down in the grass, watching Ratchet march purposefully towards the parking lot. Knowing the mech could still hear him at that distance, he cupped his hands to project his voice and bellowed as loud as his sore throat would allow:

"Just don't scratch the paint!"


End file.
